The Aftermath

I am a pretty lousy housekeeper. My good friends who have helped clean my house many times will attest to this. They love me anyway. I'm always thankful that a clean house is not the basis of good friendship, or I could have ended up a real loner. In spite of the fact that there might be a measurable amount of dust on every horizontal surface in my house and things are not perfectly in place all the time, and while my threshold for clutter is pretty high, the one thing I cannot tolerate is dirty dishes. So, it is a rare thing  for me to go to bed with dishes in the sink as was the case on Thanksgiving night. After a very wonderful day, I succumbed to the lure of sofa and "The Hobbit". After about a half hour, I succumbed to sleep.. To no great surprise,  the dishes were still waiting for me when I woke on Friday morning. In a hurry to meet Jessica for some mom and daughter time on Black Friday, I made a cursory attempt of shoving a few of the big pots and pans in the dishwasher and hitting the start button before flying out the door. Getting home late from our excursion, I decided to wait until today to really tackle the job of cleaning up the aftermath of our Thanksgiving festivities.

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I love the anticipation of seeing everyone, decorating the house, cooking a delicious meal, gathering together at the table to give thanks to God for his many blessings. It is good and rich and it fills my soul. And then, all too soon, dinner is over and everyone leaves, and the house is quiet.

 It is in this quiet of Saturday morning that I now find myself. As I look around, it is as if everything is in suspended animation from Thursday night when I waved Jess and Justin and the kids goodbye, warning them of icy roads and pleading for Jess to text me when they arrived safely home. Now, as the sunshine streams in the morning light, I begin to assess the stark reality of the aftermath that was previously softened by candlelight on Thursday evening. The dinner table, once regal with centerpieces, (one made by our sweet Bailey) tells its own disheveled tale. Scattered about are dessert plates with remnants of pumpkin and apple pie and whipped cream. Coffee cups linger, evidence to the loud, crazy good conversation and fellowship that transpired. The floor is splotched with orange color that I recognize as yams that didn't quite make it all the way to Caedmon's little mouth. Pink and yellow tulle ballet costumes that Brooklyn and Bailey enjoy each and every time they visit G'ma and Gpa's house are scattered about the bedroom, reminders of my daughters who wore them when they were young. Bunnies, building blocks, cars and trucks peppered about each room are sure tell-tale signs that children are welcome everywhere in this home..

There is a comforting ritual in cleaning up the aftermath. I have no other noise in the house. No TV or music. Just me and memories to savor of family and friends. I pack the crystal glasses back in their boxes and put the china away in its place to await Christmas when once again they will grace the table of fellowship and witness our family gathering once more. .